


Real World Practical Application

by DollyDoppler



Category: Generation X (Comic), Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Character Study, Dorks in Love, Existential Crisis, Growing Up, M/M, Post-Canon, ignores canon past the 2017 comic run
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:27:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22747807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollyDoppler/pseuds/DollyDoppler
Summary: Trevor Hawkins graduated the Real World Practical Application Training course at the Xavier Institute. Now what?
Relationships: Lin Li & Trevor Hawkins, Nathaniel Carver/Benjamin Deeds, Trevor Hawkins & Benjamin Deeds
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Real World Practical Application

**Author's Note:**

> I can't tell you enough how much I miss the Generation X (2017) comics and the potential it had. It felt as if the story was just finding its footing when the series was cancelled. Was it perfect? No. But most Marvel comics (especially the X-Men comics) aren't. 
> 
> Immediately after reading the series I started drafting up a Generation X post-canon story, exploring their futures post-institute. I've found myself in a rut for the longer story and I hope posting what's technically the first chapter (but can stand on its own) will help me progress. ~~Plus i wanted to show SOMETHING for my efforts so far.~~

Traveling on the subway was never ideal. 

Sharp elbows jabbed into his ribs with every lurch of the train but no offers of apologies were given to mend some of the ache. Occasionally someone with unfortunate aim would land directly into one of his eyes and Trevor Hawkins would have to bite his tongue to prevent himself from crying out from the sudden pain. Voices traveled throughout the compartment like flies flittering about, producing a quiet buzz of grumbled protests and quiet cussing. 

Then there were the stares. Looks of awe and curiosity but more often suspicion edged with fear targeted him from all directions and the only way to ignore it was to stare resolutely at the floor. Instinctively his shoulders hunched as he tried to make himself smaller but his efforts proved to be null. He couldn’t hide. Even with the scarf, the hoodie, and his long hair, people could still make out his rather obvious physical mutations. Trevor was not surprised that people stared; hell, it was better they stare than the violent alternative. The staring had been an issue his whole life. Not many mutants could say they have 57 eyes; however, there had always been a difference between the judgement of mutants versus the judgment of humans. He always felt infinitely more alien among humans.

“Mommy, is that a monster?”

“Shush, Isaac, he’ll hear you.”

Trevor sighed, adjusting his scarf for the sixth time in hopes more of his eyes would be obscured. The action struck a guilty cord in him. Nightcrawler’s teachings echoed in his thoughts: ‘I look exactly the way I’m supposed to.’ Although true, the mantra would do no good against the masses riding New York’s busiest transportation system.

Taking the subway was never ideal but his comfort levels were a worthy sacrifice if that meant they had money to pay the bills.

X

Trevor made his way toward their decaying apartment complex nestled between a bodega and a restaurant. The bricked building held severe damage from previous storms and traversing villains. Old faded graffiti that covered its walls was its only notable decor but that too emphasized this place was rotting. Its surrounding environment was not much better: The sidewalks and roads were in much need of repair, what little vegetation there was was either dying or overgrown, and the view from their apartment was tarnished by the rising new buildings and glowing advertisements that boxed them in. That said, the location was quiet compared to the rest of the city. It still fell within what was deemed safe territory for mutant-kind. To them, it was home.

As he walked up the creaking steps, he was reminded of how sore he felt after spending the last nine hours of the day sitting in a chair, watching a wall of live video feed. And to think he’d spend the next five lounging in a chair to recover. His key scraped harshly against the lock of their door and he nearly dropped it in the process. 

“Hey Trevor,” Benjamin Deeds greeted him from their well-worn couch, the transmorph’s classwork in hand. “How was work?”

Trevor sighed softly and began the process of removing his many layers of clothing: gloves, scarf, hat, hoodie, secondary jacket, shoes, the like. The chill of their apartment caressed his lightly sweating skin, giving him a rather flush complexion. “Sucked for the most part. Slow even for a Thursday, yet the subways were still packed as ever. Felt like I could hardly breathe.”

As he dropped off his work bag to the side of the couch, he noticed a lump sprawled partly in Ben’s lap. Nathaniel Carver was fast asleep with some of Ben’s many academic essays piled precariously onto his back like some sort of impromptu desk. “Tough day for Nathaniel, too?”

“Yeah,” Ben absentmindedly ran his fingers through Nathaniel’s hair, prompting the psychometrist to curl deeper into his lap. “He had a late night shift working at Common Grounds followed by a mid-afternoon exam.” Commons Grounds was a nearby café, a relatively new establishment that quickly grew in popularity for its tasty drinks, live music, and free wi-fi.

“Well, he seems to be doing well now. What about you?” Trevor leaned against the back of the couch, laying his head on top of his folded arms. The slight twitch from Ben suggested Trevor’s hair tickled his bare skin. The rhythmic sway of his left foot and the crease of his mouth indicated high amounts of stress, if Trevor had a guess.

“I’ve got two essays to write by the end of next week so don’t let this calm exterior fool you. I am trying my hardest to not subconsciously morph into my professor.” Ben offered him a watery grin while his eyes practically screamed ‘help me.’

Trevor swallowed roughly. “I _do not_ envy you two right now.” 

Ben hummed in response, marking what seemed to be an old note off of the essay in his hands. He was half-listening at best. 

“Whelp,” Trevor stood up. “Got any late night binge-studying leftovers I can mooch off of?”

“You can have Nathaniel’s leftover Chinese food but there’s no guarantee he won’t maim you when he wakes up.” A clear over-exaggeration but still.

Trevor paused. A glance to the sleeping body still softly snoring away. A longing look to the kitchen. Back again at Ben. A determined gleam entered his eyes. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

Minutes later with a bowl of three-day old lo mein in hand, Trevor sat heavily onto a nearby arm rest. “So,” he took a moment to swallow his mouthful, “Any word from either Roxy or Quentin lately?”

“Quentin just got back in good graces with the X-Men. He’ll start acting up again when he begins to miss us.” The ‘and no doubt crash on their couch when he inevitably gets kicked out’ goes unsaid. “I wish Quentin would just realize that if he wanted to visit he could just visit. It’d save everyone from so much unnecessary drama.”

Trevor snorted, “But what’s a friendship with Quentin without breaking a few hearts?”

Ben had to stifle a laugh. “Don’t. You’ll make me wake up Nathaniel.” The aforementioned dreamer stirred softly, yet settled abruptly. This observation drew Trevor’s eyes to his breathing, irregular but not panicked. Ben’s boyfriend was pretending to remain asleep and Trevor felt it’d be rude to break his facade. “But yeah, you’re right. Quentin’s presence makes things a bit more livelier than usual, even if it’s not always the kind of lively we want.”

As subtle as one could be when eating with a metal fork and a ceramic bowl, Trevor ate another mouthful of Nathaniel’s leftovers. Despite Nathaniel’s lack of protests, he couldn’t help but feel a wave of guilt wash over him with every chew.

“Roxy is coming by this weekend. Something about ‘our inability to properly feed ourselves.’ Her words, not mine.”

“I’ll have you know that this meal has at least one serving of vegetables in it.” Trevor emphasized his point by popping a piece of broccoli into his mouth.

“We are the living embodiment of the food pyramid.” Ben gave him a mock toast, his pen acting as his champagne. They exchanged mischievous grins. Roxy, having left the Institute sooner than them, was much more accustomed to life outside of a boarding school, which included eating outside of a cafeteria. She hoped to help bring them all up to speed.

After a beat Ben’s left pointer twitched. “Hate to do this to you, but I really should focus on this paper. Faulkner isn’t going to analyze itself.”

“Ah, right. Sorry. I’ll just… head on over to the kitchen. You know, like a respectable mutant-being.” He gave Ben his best apologetic expression before slipping off the couch and entering the kitchen. It was a small, homely room made up of your typical fridge, sink, and oven. Strewn underneath the window was a wide array of plants ranging from ferns to succulents to flowering foxglove, a small garden created by Lin. Random notes and drawings littered the fridge, including a rather flattering picture of Quentin as the Phoenix with his foot set atop a comically defeated Nathaniel. One might easily guess who created that particular illustration.

And there, shoved in the corner of the room, was a mismatched dining room set they had acquired via scavenging for abandoned furniture off the side of the road shortly after they rented the place.

Trevor plopped unceremoniously onto one of their chairs, taking yet another bite. He sat there, listening to the hum of their refrigerator and thinking about his future.

X

Metal creaked and groaned in complaint of an incoming visitor climbing the fire escape’s rusted steps. Antlers knocked gently against glass. Their window, old and deteriorated like the rest of the building, jimmied its way open and Lin Li climbed expertly into their kitchen. 

Trevor’s wave went ignored in favor of Lin delicately examining the health of her potted plants. Deeming them parched, she filled a pitcher of water to tend to their needs. He didn’t mind. She was an enigma even after all of these years. Although strange, her presence was one of comfort and not distress. 

“You’re brooding Trevor. Why?”

Startled, he nearly dropped the bowl he was about to wash. “I’m not ‘brooding’.”

“If you say so.” She responded, clearly dropping the subject entirely if he so pleased.

Before he consciously realized it, his mouth was contorted into a frown. Had he been brooding? It certainly didn’t feel as if he had been. Though, he supposed, fixating on both his present and his desired future could lead to brooding thoughts. He sighed. “Lin, do you ever feel like you’re stuck?”

“I’m not sure I understand the question.”

“Like you’re overwhelmed with this feeling that you’re going nowhere in life? Either opportunities are far and few between or your own personal insecurities get in the way of any significant progress?” It must have bothered him more than he realized because his voice was gradually increasing in volume with every word and he had to make a conscious effort to keep it low. As much as he trusted Ben and Nathaniel, this conversation wasn’t for them. “I dunno. I guess it kind of just hit me hard after talking to Ben. I work at one job that I hate and at another job that I enjoy but it’s not where I’m supposed to be.” He sighed again. “It’d be one thing if I looked... well, not like this. At least then I wouldn’t have to worry whether or not the interviewer will kick me out as soon as they see me walk in. I guess, in a way, I feel rather envious of Nathaniel and Ben. Don’t get me wrong! I’m proud of them, but they have it easier than mutants like you and me.”

“And where are you supposed to be?” Lin asked, backtracking a bit. A look of confusion crossed her face.

Instinctively, he hunched his shoulders in. He couldn’t seem to meet her eyes. “It’s stupid.”

“If it bothers you so much, does it matter if it’s ‘stupid'?” She leaned against the counter next to him, her right antler knocking against the cabinet.

“I should have been a part of the X-Men.”

“But you’re no good in that kind of fight.” Which wasn’t strictly true.

“They said they would make it happen if I wanted it badly enough.” And every time he had a moment to prove himself, there was never an adult to witness it.

“Do you actually want it? Or do you want what it represents to you?” With his silence, she stood up, making her way to the living room. She paused right before reaching its arch, “When the Lesser Redpoll experiences a food shortage, they migrate. If they were to stay, they would die. It is unreasonable to fight these sorts of instincts, Trevor.” She offered him a kind smile before leaving him to finish his dish duty. 

To ground himself, Trevor took a deep breath and pressed his hands against his main set of eyes. He felt overwhelmed, frustrated, like a balloon with too much air, but Lin was right. He needed to find a way to move forward.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this piece, please feel free to leave a kudos and a comment. ;)
> 
> Side note: If you couldn't tell, Trevor Hawkins is my favorite. 
> 
> Side side note: The entire time I was writing this series (which actually has over 15k at this point), I've been jamming out to this spotify playlist I made. Feel free to give it a listen [RWPA](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1pH3QELl26AaujKAE4hray?si=9eho7fybR96ekMyBanXBIQ).


End file.
